Unholy Matrimony

This man born of deception and deceit,
And reared with nary comfort, care, or cheer,
In magic hath established an elite;
In enemies would he inspire fear.
Batrachian your face beneath that bow;
My overthrow you would allege a gain;
Yet twixt us I discern a common foe,
Upon whom we enjoy inflicting pain.
So you, with blackest heart, and I, with none,
Since mutual our aim appears to be,
And two would fain accomplish more as one,
I offer a proposal unto thee:

Dolores, through this missive I exhort
You to become my Lady Voldemort.